


Coming in Like Lightning

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Heart Like an Anchor [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: The whole thing with Los Santos starts as a dumb bet, which should tell you everything you need to know right there.





	Coming in Like Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> [Based off this fic idea I had a while back. (Because reasons.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666224/chapters/38171042)

Geoff’s shooting the shit with Burnie in his office late one night. Sharing a bottle of whiskey between them while they reminisce about the good old days back when they were stupid kids just starting out in this life. 

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and no idea what was ahead of them in their futures, but fucking hell were they determined to get there as fast as they could. Convinced they were headed for greatness and intent on making it happen no matter what it cost.

Looking back on it, it was pretty stupid of them. Should have gotten them killed, but somehow they made it work. Went from being a group of mismatched individuals to the driving force behind a criminal empire spanning the country, its reach growing longer each day.

“God, we were stupid,” Burnie laughs, some gray starting to slip in his beard, peppering his hair.

Creases at the corner of his eyes and lines around his mouth because the fucker laughs like no one else Geoff knows.

They’re not _old_ , but they sure as hell aren’t young anymore.

“Christ,” Geoff says, grin on his face. “We still are.”

They really, really are.

Geoff watches the city skyline through those ridiculous windows of Burnie’s, and makes the mistake of telling the fucker there are times he feels like he might as well retire now. 

They’ve got the next generation set up to take over now, hard-earned experience under their belts and this hunger to them they’ve lost along the way. Traded it for things, people, here and there as they grew the fuck up and realized money and power will only get you so far. That if you wanted to have anything worth keeping, you had to give something up for it.

They’ll learn that too one day, these kids. They’re smarter than the four of them ever were, and they’re not alone. Have the Founders standing behind them if they need it, but something tells Geoff they won’t. (Smart kids, after all.)

Burnie snorts and pours Geoff another round, eyebrow raised as Geoff reaches for it, corner of his mouth quirked.

Old bets made by stupid kids, and the whiskey burns as it goes down. Geoff knocking it back like it’s nothing because he used to have money riding on it, but now it’s more of a pride thing.

Burnie’s laugh fills the office, and a moment later Geoff’s joins it because it’s hard not to.

“That so,” Burnie says when his laughter trails off a while later.

Geoff shrugs, because hell if he’s done anything meaningful when it comes to the Roosters in a long while. 

Burnie hums, and something to it reaches through the pleasant haze of alcohol, sharp enough to make him pay attention because he knows that thoughtful little _hmm_ too damn well.

“Burns?”

There’s a thing, about the Founders. 

About Burnie and Geoff in particular and all the stupid bets they’ve made over the years. From the stupidest shit to things that rocked the foundations of their city until everyone knew who the fuck the Roosters were. (Hullum and Gus and goddamned in the mix there somewhere, but for the most part they liked to stand back and wait until the dust settled before they made their move.)

“Los Santos,” Burnie says, and pulls out a shiny little tablet to bring up a map of the city. Spins it around to face Geoff with that same fucking smirk he gets when he thinks he’s about to get one over on someone. “You’ve heard of it?”

========

“So,” Jack says, so goddamned amused as he sits on the side of Geoff’s bed. “I hear we’re headed to Los Santos.”

Geoff rubs a hand over his face and tries to remember what the fuck happened the night before. His head hurts – hell, his everything hurts – and he feels old and wrung out. (Hangover, his old friend.)

Jack sighs, and for one small hopeful moment when he gets up, Geoff actually thinks he’s going to let him sleep it off, but of course he doesn’t.

This is Jack, and he’s a monster. 

Geoff actually recoils with a hiss when Jack pulls the blinds up to let sunlight in. Tries to burrow under the tangle of blanket but Jack is relentless and merciless as all hell, ripping them out of his hands. 

“Oh, fuck no,” Jack says, super nice and pleasant and anyone who says the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body doesn’t know him half as well as they think they do. “Our flight leaves tomorrow, you need to fucking pack, you asshole.”

Geoff presses his face against the mattress in the vain hope he can smother himself because bits and pieces of the night before are coming back to him, but it doesn’t work.

“Up, Geoff,” Jack says, dumping the blankets on the floor beside the bed as he leaves. “You have a lot of shit to get done.”

Geoff sighs when he hears the door shut behind him, and flops over on his back like a fish out of water because - 

He made a bet with Burnie, and those have always felt like making a deal with the devil. Chipping off another piece of his soul and handing it over in the hopes he’d win this time.

A soft chime fills the air, and Geoff turns his head towards the end table. Reaches over to snag the stupid tablet Burnie gave him as a going away present. When he unlocks it, the map of Los Santos is still up, and there's an email notification.

Common sense tells him not to open it, but Geoff’s shit at that, so he taps the icon.

It’s from Burnie, because of fucking course it is, and there’s an attachment. A video with last night’s date

No guesses as to what’s on it, but Geoff hits the play button anyway because he’s a glutton for punishment.

His dumb face comes up, drunk as fuck and throwing Burnie’s original bet in his face. Telling him he can make Los Santos his bitch in under a year, because Geoff is an idiot but drunk Geoff is a million times stupider.

“Oh, Christ,”Geoff mutters, tablet falling from hands to hit him in the face, video still playing if a bit muffled now. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

And because the universe hates him that much, Burnie in the the video starts laughing.

========

Geoff decides to swear off drinking, because all it’s ever done for him was get him in trouble, and this stupid bet he’s agreed to is looking to be much the same.

========

The airport’s crowded as always, bustling crowds and harried people trying to get wherever the hell they’re headed with a minimum of fuss. Most manage to do so, others get the short stick and the rest just get shit on.

Geoff and Jack are somewhere in the middle at the moment. Flight delayed due to inclement weather and Jack’s on top of it. 

Speaking of, Geoff looks over at Jack, knot of guilt eating him up because Jack’s got a life here. A _good_ life, nothing like what they had when the Roosters were starting to gain a foothold in this city.

And because Geoff is an idiot with a big mouth, he’s uprooting Jack and dragging him halfway across the country on a fucking bet.

“Jack - “

“Shut the fuck up, Geoff,” Jack says, not unkindly

Geoff shuts the fuck up, waits patiently until Jack’s done with whatever he’s doing and looks up at him.

He doesn’t look angry or annoyed, or even particularly troubled at this sudden upheaval in his life, and more like fondly exasperated.

“Uh - “

“If you think,” Jack starts, mild tone of voice that’s honestly terrifying because _Jack_. “Geoff, if you think I’m going to let you head off to goddamned Los Santos on one of your stupid bets _alone_ , I will straight up fucking murder you.”

Strangely touching, if a bit alarming.

“...okay?” Geoff tries, and breathes a sigh of relief when Jack smiles at him.

“Good,” Jack says, and clears his throat, eyes skipping away from Geoff’s as he goes back to his phone.

Geoff fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot before he deiced the hell with it and grabs Jack in an awkward little side hug.

“Thanks Jack,” he murmurs, relieved more than he can say.

Jack huffs in annoyance, and pulls Geoff into a proper hug, complete with super manly back slapping because he’s a brute.

“You’re welcome, asshole. Now let’s never talk about this again, the way men are supposed to.”

Geoff snorts a laugh, shoulders shaking as Jack breaks down laughing as well because they’re a pair of idiots and it’s kind of awesome.

========

To be fair, Burnie didn’t send the two of them to Los Santos to die.

He sent the two of them to Los Santos to handle the expansion of the Rooster’s criminal empire, which might look a hell of a lot like the same thing from the outside, but it is not.

Mostly not, anyway.

They have an old warehouse renovated with living spaces. A small support team to make sure once Geoff and Jack get things rolling they stay that way. A list of reliable contacts who Geoff is going to have to schmooze properly _to_ get things rolling. Requisite funding from the Roosters until they’re turning a profit out here.

Not exactly starting from scratch, but in a city like this, it’s still a hell of a challenge.

The parameters of the bet are for Geoff to set up a crew of his own out here, grow its operations until they have the city under their control, and that - 

“Holy shit,” Geoff murmurs, watching the news. “This place is worse than back home.”

Which makes sense, because the Roosters have been running things there for a long time. Stamp out trouble before it starts and keeps everyone in line. Actually made the city safer for everyone there, and for whatever godforsaken reason drunk Geoff told Burnie he could do the same in Los Santos.

“You’ve got meetings today,” Jack says was he wanders over to set the tablet Burnie gifted him with down. “A lot of them.”

Reluctantly, Geoff picks the tablet up and scrolls through the appointments. _Scrolls_.

“Jesus dicks,” he mutters, because he hates meetings.”How much shit would Burnie give me if I backed out now?”

Jack _hmms_ as he strokes his beard like he’s thinking about it.

“Well,” Jack says, like the bastard he is. “The answer you’re looking for here is a metric shit-ton, I believe? But you’re also forgetting all the shit the rest of the Founders will give you. And myself, among others.”

The entire fucking organization, Geoff knows, because everyone in the damn crew is an asshole, and Geoff hates them all.

“Okay, yeah,” he concedes. “Point.”

========

After the first full day of meetings, Geoff wants a goddamned drink.

“I want a goddamned drink,” Geoff groans, chin resting on his folded arms as Jack organizes Geoff’s meetings for tomorrow.

Sure, he’s sworn off drinking, but Geoff really fucking hates meetings and there’s a hell of a lot of them in his foreseeable future.

Driving all over the damn city to meet paranoid, greedy fuckers to make sure they don’t accidentally kick off a gang war.

“That’s nice, Geoff,” Jack mumbles absently. “There’s diet soda in the mini-fridge.”

Geoff feels his mouth pull up in a tired smile as he gets up to grab one, and grabs a beer for Jack while he’s at it.

========

Geoff’s schedule over the next few weeks is pretty much the same old same old.

Get up, make himself presentable, charm the fuck out of people so as not to get himself and the people relying on him not to fuck this up killed. Maybe, if he's lucky, strike a deal of two that’ll bring in come money, allow them to expand their operation out here.

Catch shaky camera footage of himself and Jack on the news and see reporters and so-called experts debating what it means for the city of Los Santos for a Rooster of his standing to be here.

Call Burnie up and demand to know why the fucker didn’t tell him they’ve broken up after a decades long love affair in which Geoff turned angry and bitter and left to start his own crew.

“Torrid, asshole. Our _torrid_ love affair,” Burnie corrects between gasps of air, and Geoff grins as he pictures that idiot laughing himself sick over the tabloids Geoff sent to him. “And also, fuck you for breaking my goddamned heart.”

Geoff leans back in his office chair and kicks his feet up on his desk because it’s been a long couple of weeks and he kind of misses the son of a bitch.

“It’s what you get for breaking mine first, fucker.”

Burnie’s laughter peters off after a bit, but Geoff can still hear the smile in his voice.

“Gonna give up?”

Geoff’s office is the old manager’s office overlooking the main floor of the warehouse. He can see his support crew down below, hard at work while Jack troubleshoots. All of them talented people with the kind of hunger to them that’s going to make this city his – theirs – soon enough.

“Nah,” he says, “I’ve got this.”

========

The next day someone tries to break into his fucking car when he goes to a more or less legitimate meeting regarding some real estate he’s looking at, so there’s that.

“Nice,” Geoff says, because whoever tried to break into his car broke the driver’s side window and left the twisted up coat hanger on the driver’s side seat along with all the safety glass. “Really. Thanks a fucking lot for that, asshole.”

There’s a cough a little ways down, the sort that tends to cover up a laugh.

Geoff turns his head and there’s a guy leaning against a building smoking a cigarette. Light brown hair pulled up into man bun - _man bun_ \- collar of his coat pulled up against the wind and hand with the cigarette hovering in front of his mouth.

“Hey, you see anything, buddy?” Geoff asks, not expecting much, because Los Santos and all.

The guy shakes his head and flicks ash from the end of his cigarette. 

“No, sorry,” he says with an apologetic shrug, and Geoff doesn’t go weak at the knees at the sound of his voice because he’s not a goddamned teenager anymore, but it sure as hell didn’t _not_ affect him because Geoff is still very human. “Just stepped out for a smoke.”

The guy’s watching him curiously, blue, blue eyes, and it really must have been a long time since Geoff gave any thought to finding someone if some stranger is getting to him like this.

“Thanks anyway,” Geoff says, because he’d figured as much, and reaches for his phone to call Jack.

========

Things start to pick up after a few weeks of Geoff shaking hands with people and making promises that won’t cost him too much of what’s left of his soul.

Jack brings him a list of names. People he thinks would be a good fit for the crew.

“You come up with a name for us yet?” Jack asks, flipping through the files the support team put together on them.

Geoff shrugs, attention on the news and the latest piece about his presence in Los Santos. Old mugshots from the early days, and goddamn it’s weird seeing himself without all the tattoos.

One of the “experts” seems to think the idiot in the short video clip of Geoff someone took isn’t actually him. That it’s an actor or someone trying to capitalize on his reputation here in Los Santos to scam morons out of money before running.

It’s insulting and amusing at the same time, watching them try to figure out what’s going on.

“I dunno,” Geoff muses. “They seem pretty convinced I’m a fake, don’t they?”

There’s this pause, sound of papers being shuffled before Jack laughs, Geoff joining in a moment later because he kind of likes the way it sounds.

========

Geoff’s heard of Brownman before. One of the best snipers around who hasn’t committed himself to crew or gang. Likes the freedom of being able to pick and choose his jobs, and a reputation for coming down hard on anyone who tries to double-cross him.

He didn’t expect the fucker to be so damn young, though.

Skinny kid in a purple hoodie and this wary look in his eyes when Geoff drops down in the seat across from him in some hipster coffee shop. 

Not his ideal place for a meeting like this, but he can work with it.

Jack’s in line for a coffee, and Geoff smiles at the way Brownman tracks him, searching the other coffee shop patrons to see which ones are Geoff’s. (The answer is none of them, by the way, because Geoff didn’t come here to make an enemy of Brownman.)

“I’m looking for a guy with your particular talents,” Geoff says. “If you’re interested, that is. Contract work, that kind of thing.”

Brownman isn’t looking for a crew, but Geoff wouldn’t mind working with him from time to time. Let the kid know he won’t have any problems from them, and who knows? Maybe something good will come of it.

Brownman studies him for a long moment, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and snorts. Tension bleeding out of him.

“I don’t put out on the first date,” Brownman says, head tipped to the side. “Just so you know going into things.”

Oh, Geoff likes this kid.

========

After a few months the hard work the support team’s been putting in allows Geoff to sign the lease for a place close to the Dell Perro Pier. It gives him his own space back and lets the support team take over the warehouse the way they’ve been itching to since the beginning. 

It’s not quite a penthouse, but the only other apartment on the same floor is Jack’s, which is nice.

“We’re going to have a penthouse bigger than Burnie’s one day,” Geoff tells him, taking in the view through the living room windows. “Show that fucker what class looks like.”

He can _hear_ Jack rolling his eyes, but the asshole doesn’t say a damn thing which means he’s in agreement with Geoff on that one.

========

Geoff’s apartment’s a good ten stories up, give or take, and someone tries to get in through the windows.

The _windows_.

Geoff’s checking his texts before bed when he hears noise coming from his living room. Being the kind of idiot he is, he grabs his gun out of the nightstand and goes to investigate, and then - 

“What the fuck.”

It’s the middle of the night and there’s a guy on a window washer platform on the other side of his living room windows. He’s dressed up like a burglar in some terrible made for television movie and using a glass cutter to get in like this is some kid’s cartoon.

The guy freezes when he notices Geoff. Slowly releases the suction cups on the glass cutter and tucks it away in his bag like he’s hoping Geoff won’t notice.

“No, seriously,” Geoff says, because what the fuck?

This has never happened to him before, what the hell does he do here? 

He’d feel bad about shooting the guy because he’s very clearly an idiot, but he should probably do something about this, right?

Geoff doesn’t, though. Too fucking confused by what this idiot even thought he was doing, and watches as he slowly raises the platform until he’s out of sight.

Any other time, and Geoff would head up to the roof to catch him. Get some answers from him, but with this guy it feels a little like kicking someone when they’re down.

========

“What the fuck is that?” 

Geoff looks over to where Jack is staring at the marks the would-be burglar left on his living room window, and right. That was a thing that happened.

“Hell if I know,” Geoff answers, because he doesn’t even know where to start with that one. “I thought you wanted to talk about getting more people for the crew?”

Jack shoots him a suspicious look because he knows Geoff too damn well by now. Years of friendship and dealing with Geoff’s bullshit, but he lets it go for now, which is a hell of a relief.

“We need someone with demolitions expertise,” Jack says, and the window incident is forgotten as they go through the candidates.

========

Mogar turns out to be a kid who might have a few years on Brownman, but not much.

Geoff likes him from the start, and from the way Jack’s looking at him, so does he.

They’re in an all-night diner where the owners turn a blind eye to this kind of thing. 

“This is fucking stupid,” Mogar mutters, picking apart the half-assed plan Geoff and Jack put together as a test. “You’re going to get everyone killed if you use this much C4. Who the fuck thought this would work?”

Geoff shrugs, watching Mogar pull a napkin out of the dispenser to draw out a feasible plan that won’t get anyone killed, bitching about whatever idiot came up with the original plan.

“I like him,” Jack says, grin in his voice because Mogar’s too lost in his work to notice. “We’re keeping him, right?”

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Mogar hisses, finding some new fault in their shitty plans to be angry about. 

Geoff laughs, because they sure the fuck are.

========

Geoff runs into Man Bun a few days later. Back at the real estate agent’s office with Jack, and there he is, taking another smoke break

“Hey,” Man Bun says, sounding happy to see him. “Fancy seeing you again.”

Geoff hesitates before he waves Jack to go on ahead as he goes over to talk to him. 

Because manners, yes.

Jack gives him this amused smirk, which is in no way appreciated at all before he gets the fuck out of there.

“Uh,” Man Bun says, and Geoff should not find the his frown as adorable as he does, he’s an adult for Christ's sake. “I didn't interrupt anything, did I?”

“Nah," Geoff says, feeling a little like an idiot, because what the hell is he doing?

Man Bun looks at him for a long moment before he shrugs, little smile tugging at his mouth.

========

“Does your boyfriend have a name, Geoffrey?”

God, Jack is such an insufferable asshole.

“...his name is Ryan,”Geoff says quietly.

He tries not to think about the scrap of paper in his coat pocket or the number on it he’s never gong to call.

In another life, maybe, but in this one?

Geoff’s one of the Founders. Helped build the Roosters from the ground up and he came to Los Santos to do the same all over again with his own crew, and it’s not going to be easy. 

He already has enemies, people who’d be fucking delighted to use Ryan to get to him. Break him down and send whatever is left to Geoff just to make a goddamn point.

Geoff’s not so selfish that he’d put him through that just because he likes the sound of his voice or can’t get over how fucking blue his eyes are.

He can feel Jack watching him. 

“Geoff - “

“We’re going to be late for our appointment,” Geoff says, cutting him off because he doesn’t want to _talk_ right now. “And Lindsay is going to kill us if we don’t get her more warehouses for storage, so hurry the fuck up, Jack.“

========

With Brownman and Mogar on board, Geoff figures they’re ready to make a little noise.

Pull everyone’s eyes to the assholes blowing shit up and robbing banks and all that shit while the support team quietly goes about the real work of expanding the crew’s operations throughout the city.

Lindsay and Trevor have things in hand there, and Los Santos has been waiting for him to make his move, so why disappoint?

========

“Fucking Christ!” Michael yells, ducking back into cover as bullets whiz past. “This was the shittiest plan in the world!”

Dozens of cop cars puled up in front of the bank along with a few news vans. Choppers in the air and to be fair to Michael, it does look pretty bad.

Geoff hands Michael fresh ammo and reloads his own assault rifle, unable to help his laughter.

God help him, but he’s missed this.

The chaos and noise and he’s definitely a little fucked in the head, but damn it’s nice to get back to basics.

There’s adrenalin's zipping through his veins, lips stretched into a wide grin as the cops order them to put their weapons down and come up with their hands up.

Ray’s out there keeping the cops off them and Jack’s inbound with a Cargobob. He and Michael have the money and they’ll be home scot-free in a few minutes.

“Everything’s fine Michael, just stick to the plan,” Geoff says, patting him on the shoulder as he pops out of cover to fire off a few rounds.

Behind him he can hear Michael bitching about Geoff and Jack and how goddamned stupid he was to sign on with their fucking crew, and grins as Michael stands up beside him to fire towards the cops trying to flank them.

“Take that, you fuckers!” 

========

The news outlets go nuts for weeks afterward, buzzing about the Fake AH Crew and their daring daylight bank robbery.

The city’s in an uproar and Geoff is riding high on their success, so of course he comes across the hapless would-be burglar again.

This time it’s at the support teams main warehouse as he’s seeing to paperwork and goes to investigate (still that kind of idiot) when he hears a loud crashing noise downstairs.

“Seriously,” Geoff says, coughing on dust that came down with the air vent the idiot was crawling through. “What the fuck.”

The would-be burglar doesn’t say anything, which is fair, because he just fell out of the vent on his back. 

“Is - “ Geoff stops, frowns down at the guy as he starts to sit up. “Are you okay?”

The would-be burglar nods, reaching up to fix the balaclava he’s wearing to hide his face that’s been twisted around a bit, and Geoff catches a glimpse of his hair before he tucks that out of sight.

When he looks at Geoff, he notices that the would-be burglar is wearing glasses of some sort – goggles, maybe? - under it all that gives the whole thing a vaguely skull-like appearance.

Eerie and unsettling and some half-forgotten memory in the back of Geoff’s mind.

The would-be burglar sighs, shoulders slumping as he looks at the mess around him.

Watching him, Geoff gets the impression the would-be burglar is more concerned about how his brilliant plan has somehow failed him than being caught in the act.

“Not to be that asshole,” Geoff says, but he’s absolutely going to be that asshole. “You do know who I am, right?”

Geoff’s never ever actually said that in his life, because yeah, no, but - 

The would-be burglar just _looks_ at him, startling a laugh out of Geoff.

His face has been plastered all over the news on and off for months now, and after the band robbery it’s all anyone’s talking about. Trying to determine what his next move will be like they have any idea.

“Fine,” Geoff huffs, and then frowns, because he has no idea what to do with this idiot.

Kill him, probably, because he’s not the best burglar out there, sure, but he did get past the warehouse’s security measures. He’s already made a try at breaking into Geoff’s apartment, and he has a sneaking suspicion he might be the guy who tried to break into his car that time. (No proof, but his gut is telling him it’s connected.)

“Are you here to kill me?” Geoff asks, because he probably should, just to be safe.

He’s been making enough waves in Los Santos’ criminal underworld to warrant a hit being put out on him.

The would-be burglar shakes his head, and Geoff decides to believe him, because it would be even sadder to find out this idiot is just that bad at killing someone.

“Alright,” Geoff says and figures since he’s down here anyway he might as well grab himself a can of diet soda. On a whim, and since he still feels bad for the guy, Geoff gets one for him too. ”Jack’s going to be in at nine, you might want to be gone by then.”

That said, Geoff heads back up to his office to finish his paperwork before Jack gets in to nag him about it.

========

“Geoff.”

“Jack.”

“The fuck happened downstairs?”

There’s badly hidden worry in Jack’s voice, which makes Geoff feel like a guilty kid keeping secrets from his parents.

He never actually told Jack about the attempted break in at his apartment, although he must have figured it out by now. Especially with the mess downstairs the would-be burglar made a token effort to clean up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Geoff says, and tries not to laugh at Jack’s long-suffering sigh.

========

When Geoff gets home that night there’s a case of diet soda on his kitchen table with a note.

 

_Sorry about the warehouse, but thanks for the drink._

 

There’s a drawing of a skull in place of the signature - eerie and unsettling, especially with no signs of a break-in to speak of.

Geoff shakes his head as he takes a can for himself and puts the rest in the fridge, because only in Los Santos.

========

After the bank robbery they talk about going a little bigger. Bringing in more muscle, another gun, and not too long afterward Michael drags a kid to Geoff’s apartment.

Both of them more than a little drunk and looking like they’ve been through hell. Fresh bruises and blood on their faces like terrifying war paint and fucking grinning like idiots.

“Geoff!” Michael says (yells), “I got us a guy!”

Geoff squints at Michael. 

At his buddy.

At the ugly designer clock on the wall Gus sent him as a apartment warming gift because he’s a bastard and hates Geoff more than anyone else and calls that friendship (Which it is, but like. The worst kind.)

“Michael,” Geoff says, in what he hopes is a reasonable tone of voice. “It’s four in the fucking morning.”

Michael looks like he has no idea what that has to do with anything, face scrunched up in an exaggerated frown. His friend(?) isn’t even paying attention, looking around and making faces at the décor – which is a motley blend of questionable interior decorator choices and “gifts” from his terrible friends who have clearly been waiting all this time to let him know how much they hate him.

Like Gus.

“So? You said we needed more muscle,” Michael says, almost a full minute later, brain obviously on some kind of delay. “Li'l J’s got those.”

‘Li’l J’ looks at Geoff and flexes, and Geoff's hard pressed not to laugh because what the fuck is his life these days?

“He does have those, yes,” Geoff agrees. “You want to stay here for the night? I don’t think you’re going to make it back to yours with the state you're in, buddy.”

Michael chews on that for a while as Geoff watches, and eventually decides that yes, he is indeed too goddamned drunk to get halfway across the city and lets Geoff herd him and Li’l J to his spare bedroom.

He’s got two, but they insist one is fine and Geoff doesn’t press because what business is it of his?

=========

Geoff wakes up to the smell of cooking bacon and when he wanders out to the kitchen sees Li’l J wearing Michael’s shirt and his pants from the night before cooking breakfast.

He looks like death warmed over, and the bacon smell can’t be helping but he seems determined to keep on trucking for whatever reason.

“Good morning,” Geoff says, keeping his voice down because the poor kid looks like his head’s killing him.

Li’l J looks at him, and opens his mouth to say something when his face goes green and he mumbles an apology before rushing for the nearest bathroom.

Geoff gets up to save the bacon and while he’s getting eggs out of the fridge Li’l J comes back in.

“Uh,” he says. “So that could have gone better, I guess.”

Geoff shoots him a look and the poor kid _blushes_ , what the fuck.

“Nah,”Geoff says, grinning a little, because he’s not wrong. “You’re doing great.”

He gets a skeptical look for that, because hey, Geoff’s a sarcastic bastard, but whatever.

“There’s aspirin the cabinet over there,” Geoff says, pointing.”If you want any.”

Li’l J hesitates before deciding going over to get the bottle, and Geoff watches him from the corner of his eye as he shakes a couple into his hand and dry swallows them. Pause, and then shake a couple more out before he looks for a glass.

“The one to your right,” Geoff says, and smiles to himself as Li’l J gets a glass and fills it with water, setting both on the table for Michael when he comes out.

“Thanks,” Li’l J says, kind of awkward now that he doesn’t have anything to do since Geoff stole cooking duty from him. 

It occurs to Geoff that the kid is nervous as hell, which is fair, he supposes. Geoff’s face is pretty recognizable these days, and waking up to find he stayed the night in Geoff’s place after getting as drunk as he had would be a bit of a surprise to anyone.

“Michael seems pretty insistent you’ve got muscles,” Geoff says, because along with being a sarcastic bastard he's also a regular old bastard. 

“...I mean yeah?” Li’l J says, and then his brain seems to catch up to him because his eyes widen as realization hits. “Oh, _fuck_. He was telling the truth, you really are looking for more people?”

He looks horrified, glancing down at himself and running a hand through his hair that’s dyed bright green. Like someone who’s just realize they’re underdressed for a job interview and it would be funny as hell if he also didn’t look a little like he might start crying.

Geoff slides a plate of food in front of him and pats him on the shoulder because this fucking kid, okay, what the fuck.

“Relax, Li’l J. We can have the proper job interview some other day.”

Not that there’s an actual process to it, but he’s a little worried the poor kid’s going to lose it if he doesn’t, so.

“Okay,” he says, looking grateful for the reprieve, and runs out of the room to throw up again.

========

“You traumatized him,” Michael says when he finally wakes up and comes into the kitchen. He’s wearing Li’l J’s shirt with this look in his eye daring him to comment, which. Geoff would _never_. “I don’t know what you did, but you fucking traumatized him."

Li’l J, whose actual name turns out to be Jeremy is off...somewhere. Geoff doesn’t know, and Michael seems unconcerned, so Geoff's going to take his cue from him.

Geoff shrugs and finishes his coffee.

“Is he a good fit?”he asks, and doesn’t realize he isn’t just asking if Jeremy’s right for the crew until the words are out of his mouth.

Michael looks at Geoff like he’s an idiot, fond little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I think he is.”

========

They hit a few banks after that. A jewelry store or two. Flashy things that catch people’s attention and draw it away from the real work being done.

Jeremy turns out to be what the crew was missing, a spark of bright energy and sheer chaos that would honestly be a little terrifying in anyone else. (Not that it isn’t in Jeremy, because Jesus Christ, but he’s got a good heart and is so fucking gone on Michael it’s not even funny. Which is good, because Michael’s just as stupid for him.)

Los Santos is in a tizzy and whatever the fuck else while the Fake AH Crew’s hold on the city grows and grows and grows.

Burnie calls him to congratulate him on making back to the top of the most wanted list again and Gus sends him the original copy of his first mugshot as a gift. 

Because friendship.

Hullum sends him chocolates, because Hullum.

Joel - 

The less said about that, the better.

And then Geoff catches the would-be burglar sneaking around his building in a delivery courier's uniform. The guy’s wearing a trucker cap, fucking mirrored Aviators, and has a bandanna wrapped around his face, and how the hell he ever expected his disguise to work Geoff will never know.

“Really?”

The guy shrugs as he shoves a clipboard at him, and Geoff knows he’s grinning at him. 

“Fucking weirdo,” Geoff mutters, but goes along with it and signs his name, accepting the box the idiot hands him as he mimes tipping his hat to Geoff and saunters off like this is in any way normal. 

(Spoiler: it fucking isn’t.)

When he’s gone, Geoff looks down at the box he’s holding, because _why_ , and goes inside his apartment.

He puts the box down o his counter and eyes it suspiciously for a long moment because it’s the right size and weight to be a case of diet soda, and considering his would-be burglar is the one who gave it to him…

Yeah.

Shaking his head, Geoff pulls out a knife and opens the box.

(Spoiler number two: it absolutely is a fucking case of diet soda.)

========

Things have been going so well for them that of course it all goes to shit.

Not unexpectedly though, since Geoff knew something like this was coming, he just hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

“So you’re Ramsey,” someone says, snide and far too arrogant for anyone’s good. “You don’t look like much.”

Geoff would roll his eyes at that, but there’s a strip of fabric tied way too goddamned tight over his eyes and what feels like a burlap sack over _that_.

For the aesthetic, probably. Can’t have a good kidnapping without one.

The speaker steps closer and rips the burlap sack off Geoff’s head, taking a few hairs with it as he does. Before Geoff’s done swearing about that, the blindfold comes off, and Geoff starts wearing again because they've got a fucking floodlight in his face. (Goddamn kidnapping aesthetics.)

The asshole’s laughing at him, all high and mighty because look at the great Geoff Ramsey now, and Geoff tunes him out because he’s heard it all before.

Eventually his eyes adjust, and he gets a good look at his kidnapper.

“Jesus,” Geoff says, “I’m so sorry.”

The guy’s laughter stops abruptly, a scowl coming over him.

“What the fuck - “

“I mean,” Geoff says, talking over him. “Your face. I’ve never seen anyone as ugly as you are. It’s gotta suck.”

Yeah, Geoff’s kind of an idiot because the moment the asshole processes Geoff’s words he goes red in the face with fury and the next thing Geoff knows he’s getting punched in the face again and again and again until everything goes black.

========

Geoff comes to when some dickhead throws a bucket of cold water on him.

“Awake, now?” someone asks while Geoff’s sputtering. 

Geoff shakes water out of his eyes and looks up to see the punch-happy asshole from before with a dripping bucket in his hands standing next someone new.

All dressed up in a fancy suit and this look on his face like he despises not being surrounded extravagance. The dirty little warehouse they’ve taken Geoff to so far beneath him it’s sad, really.

Geoff doesn’t recognize him, but assumes he’s the leader of a crew here in Los Santos. Not a major concern for them, or something would have been done about him by now.

It takes a moment for Geoff the realize he’s talking, tuning in to the usual spiel about Geoff and his crew moving in on his territory and what a terrible mistake it is. How the asshole can’t let that stand and Geoff tunes him out again, paying more attention to his surroundings and the henchman setting up what look like traps.

Honest to God traps like something out of a Vinewood movie. Spy or superhero, they’re kind of the same in the end because the villainous monologue Geoff isn’t listening to and the ridiculous deathtraps.

“What the fuck.”

“ - Pardon?”

Geoff shoots Suit a look

“Are you an actual super villain?” he asks, because really.

That seems to throw Suit off-balance because he just stares at Geoff. 

“I mean, come on,” Geoff says. “There’s a fucking laser grid? Who does that?”

There _is_ a laser grid, super intricate and no possible way anyone could hope to navigate it without setting off the explosives and whatnot. There are also other, less complicated traps, and all of them designed to kill Geoff and anyone who tries to get him out of here. 

“No shark tank though,” Geoff says, and feels a little disappointment about that. “Couldn’t get the permits?”

Suit glances at Ugly, and seems to realize he’s not going to get much help on that front.

“No,” he says. “You understand how bureaucracy is.”

God, does he ever.

“Maybe next time,” Geoff says, and waits for that to sink in - 

“There won’t be a next time,” Suit says, literally looking down his nose at Geoff. “I expect you - “

“ - to die?” Geoff finishes, because he’s been hoping for this day his entire fucking life.

Geoff is a petty bastard, absolutely loves the flash of pure, unadulterated rage that flashes across Suit’s face before he locks all away again, nice and neat.

“I see,” Suit says, not seeing a goddamned thing at all. “I believe we’re done here.”

Geoff watches as Suit and Ugly leave, henchmen trailing after them, and laughs himself sick.

========

Geoff’s not worried. 

It can’t have been more than a day since they grabbed him, and Jack and his boys will come looking eventually, and between them they're smart enough to figure the stupid traps out. 

No, Geoff is annoyed.

His head hurts, and he thinks Ugly knocked some teeth loose. His suit is ruined and the chair they tied him to is uncomfortable as all hell.

Geoff’s thinking about that when he hears footsteps.

At first he thinks it’s Suit and Ugly back to gloat or posture, or maybe Jack and the others.

It’s not though. 

Really, really not, because - 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s Geoff’s would-be burglar.

He’s wearing normal street clothes. 

And a mask.

A goddamned raccoon mask, like the ones that store in Vespucci sells. 

The would-be burglar looks around pointedly, and Geoff sighs.

“Look,” he says, not wanting to hurt the guy’s feelings since he took it upon himself to track Geoff down and seems like he plans on getting him out of here, but he doesn’t really have the best track record. “Not that I don’t appreciate it - “

The stupid fucker steps toward the laser grid and Geoff loses his shit, just a little.

“Jesus Christ! Do not - “

Would-be burglar turns his head to look at Geoff and pulls a throwing knife from...somewhere.

Throws it with lazy grace, and – horrified because he’s about to fucking _die_ thanks to this idiot – Geoff watches as it arcs through the air to hit the button release at the end of the laser grid maze.

A second later, the lasers flicker and die.

“...the fuck.”

The would-be burglar chuckles, and Geoff watches in silent (mostly) amazement as he methodically disables the traps one by one, humming some cheerful little tune under his breath the whole time.

After what feels like an eternity, he’s standing in front of Geoff, not a mark on him and both of them miraculously not amazingly dead, and so goddamned pleased with himself.

“No offense,” Geoff says, as his would-be burglar moves to cut him free. “But what the actual fuck?”

He gets another little chuckle as the asshole helps him stand, broad hand braced between his shoulder blade until Geoff’s sure he can move on his own.

 _Adrenaline_ , Geoff thinks, when he leans into his would-be burglar’s touch a little too eagerly. _That’s all it is_.

The guy leads him through the disarmed traps and out of the warehouse where Suit and Ugly and the henchmen are trussed up all pretty like.

Geoff stares at them, and then at the idiot with the cartoonish Raccoon mask.

“What - “

Would-be burglar holds a finger to the lips of his mask, and Geoff stiffens as the sound of sirens reach him.

Another chuckle, and he’s being pulled over to a nearby building and gently prodded up the fire escape until they reach the roof. Follows the idiot to the edge where they watch several cop cars pull up in front of the warehouse, officers spilling out of them to stop short in confusion, because yeah.

Someone must get their shit together because they start bundling everyone int the back of the squad cars and more cops show up to investigate the warehouse. 

Geoff snorts. He would have liked to deal with Suit and Ugly himself, but this is more entertaining.

“Pretty impressive,” he says, looking back at the guy, who shrugs, seeming almost bashful at the praise. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you?”

Previous bumbling attempts at burglary aside, his performance today was astounding. And there’s the fact that while his attempts up until now have been laughable, he did get past their security without alerting anyone every time.

Pure luck or actual skill, either way it’s worth a shot.

========

He says no.

Or, okay. 

He doesn’t talk so much as shake his head, but Geoff understands all the same.

========

“Geoff, what the fuck.”

Jack’s worry sometimes looks like anger. 

And exhaustion, because as it turns out Geoff was missing for three days and they’d been looking for him the whole time. Michael and Jeremy tearing the city apart while Ray put out feelers to his contacts, and Jack - 

“Hey, honey,” Geoff says, pulling Jack into a hug because he seems to keep doing this to him. “I’m home.”

========

Geoff sics Lindsay and Trevor and their terrifying little army after what’s left of Suit and Ugly’s people after the cops got done with them, and the Fake AH Crew’s territory gets a little bigger.

Burnie hears about the whole mess and sends him _Gavin_ , like he really thinks that’s going to help.

“Burns, what the hell?”

He likes Gavin, he does. 

Burnie’s little protege and a genuinely good kid under all the trouble making bullshit. (Funny as hell and so damned smart, all this potential to him that Geoff’s afraid he’s going to ruin if he keeps him.)

But if Burnie thinks having Gavin around is going to cut down on incidents like Geoff’s recent kidnapping, he’s barking up the wrong tree.

“He asked to go,” Burnie says, like it’s just that simple. “Fucker missed you.”

Well, when he puts it like that.

========

Geoff’s well on his way to winning the stupid bet with Burnie, and it feels goddamned _good_.

The crew is going strong, Geoff and his idiots putting on a show for Los Santos while Lindsay and Trevor cement their hold on the city, nurture the growing empire that’s taken root.

Ray comes and goes, secure in the knowledge he has a safety net with them if he ever needs it. (He won’t, though, Geoff knows. Kid’s too good, smart about things, to get in trouble like that, but if he ever does, they’re there for him.)

Michael and Jeremy keep circling Gavin who doesn’t seem to notice, and he and Jack look on in amusement because their kids are real fucking dumb.

Lindsay and Trevor throw some kid they found at Geoff and the others. Idiot with a sweet smile and sly sense of humor, and everyone loves him right off the bat.

It helps that Alfredo’s so easy-going, willing to go along with whatever trouble the Lads come up with, which is going to be trouble one day, Geoff just knows it, and looks forward to it because he’s a little fucked in the head. 

Jack’s happy here, seems more settled than Geoff’s ever seen him and it finally quashes that last seed of guilt at dragging him halfway across the country thanks to a stupid bet.

Speaking of, suck it, Burns.

========

There’s a knock on Geoff’s door.

Not unheard of, but Jack and the others tend to let themselves in, and he’s not expecting any deliveries.

Probably not someone looking to kidnap him, because those people don’t bother with social niceties like knocking, so.

Geoff opens the door.

“Hey.”

It’s Ryan.

He has a case of diet soda in his hand and a sheepish look on his face and Geoff is having a fucking aneurysm, because there’s a raccoon mask in his other hand.

Geoff swears he hears a record scratch as his world tips slightly on its side, pieces falling into place.

“Oh my God,” Geoff says, and the temptation to shoot Ryan in his stupid, perfect face is nearly overwhelming. “Oh my fucking God.”

Ryan winces, eyes darting to where he has to know Geoff’s gun is and back to Geoff’s face.

“I can explain?” he says, small and uncertain.

The worst part is that Ryan sounding like that (all _wrong_ ) yanks so fucking hard at Geoff’s heartstrings that for a moment he honestly think he’s having a heart attack on top of the aneurysm.

“Geoff?”

“Get inside, idiot,” he says, scowl softening at the relieved look on Ryan face.

========

Ryan talks. 

And talks and talks, and Geoff lets him, only interrupting him once or twice in the process.

“Murder break.”

Ryan nods, like this is a thing normal people do. Take breaks from killing people because they do too much of that. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

And then, to explain why he needed to take a ‘murder break’, Ryan pulls another mask out. 

It’s a black skull.

Geoff recognizes it, because it belongs to one of the assholes he and Jack considered recruiting for the crew way back when. Everyone they talked to about the Vagabond said that no one had heard about him for a while. Figured he’d finally gone and gotten himself killed, or managed to retire from the business, and they’d set aside their disappointment and looked at other prospects.

“Wait, what?”

Ryan shrugs, suddenly unable to make eye contact.

“It’s. Yeah.” Ryan coughs to clear his throat. “That’s. I’m him.”

So eloquent. 

Also, yeah, Geoff kind of figured that, context clues being what they are and all.

“Hand me a diet soda,” Geoff says, and watches as Ryan opens the case and pulls a can out for him.

Geoff thanks him and takes a thoughtful sip while Ryan fidgets, waiting to see what Geoff’s going to have to say about things. (Expecting the worst, from the way he’s holding himself, and it’s breaking Geoff’s heart.)

“So this,” he says, waves a hand at the dumb raccoon mask sitting beside the Vagabond’s. “What was this?”

Ryan shrugs, watching Geoff from the corner of his eye.

“I heard about you and Jack,” he says, hands making this aborted gesture before he folds them up in his lap. “I heard about you two coming to Los Santos, and I got worried.”

Two Roosters coming to Los Santos out of the blue the way they did, and one of them being a Founder? Yeah, Geoff can see that.

“About?”

Ryan turns his head to look at him, frowning a little like he doesn’t know where Geoff’s going with this. What he hopes to get from it.

“People like you come to Los Santos all the time,” he says, twist to his mouth. “Most of them make things worse. I didn’t know what you had planned, so I decided to find out for myself.”

That. Okay, that almost makes sense.

“You tried to break into my car.”

From what Geoff knows about the Vagabond, he doesn't just _try_.

“Murder break,” Ryan says, and shrugs helplessly. 

Putting aside the fact that Ryan could have looked into things as the Vagabond without killing anyone, sure, why not.

“You really take those seriously, don’t you.”

Another little shrug.

“After a while I realized you weren’t here to start trouble,” Ryan says. “So it kind of turned into a hobby?”

What.

“What?”

Ryan laughs, a surprisingly dorky sound, and rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean,” he says. “There’s not a lot for me to do on one of my murder breaks, and it was just. Fun.”

Fun.

It was fun.

Acting like the world’s most inept burglar was _fun_.

Fucking hell.

“So why tell me now?”Geoff asks, not that he doesn’t appreciate it, but why?

And oh, wow. If Geoff thought Ryan was nervous before, was he ever wrong.

Ryan’s _blushing_.

The fuck.

“You, uh,” Ryan mumbles. “You never called.”

Geoff has to take a moment to process that, really think about it.

“To be fair,” he starts, perfectly aware of how fucking bizarre all of this is. “I thought you were a civilian at the time. I didn’t want to get you involved in this life.”

And Ryan had been spying on him, but maybe it hadn’t been some kind of ploy on his part to get closer? Maybe he had given his number to Geoff in the hope he’d actually use it? (God knows Ryan’s everything since Geoff opened his door to see him standing there backs that theory up.)

“Um.”

Holy shit.

Geoff gets up, ignoring the way he can feel Ryan’s eyes on him as he crosses the room to get his phone. Picks it up and turns around to very deliberately make eye contact with the moron as he unlocks it and brings his contacts up.

“What - “

“Shut the fuck up,” Geoff says, and scrolls until he gets to _**DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES CALL THIS MEANS YOU, ME**_.

Geoff never called Ryan, it’s true, but he couldn't bring himself to just throw his number away either. Ryan’s still watching him, and Geoff hits send.

Ryan startles when his phone starts ringing, eyes widening when he looks back up at Geoff.

“You should probably get that,” Geoff says, feeling stupid giddy because they’re so ridiculous. “It might be important.”

========

The looks on everyone’s faces when Geoff strolls into the briefing for their next heist with the Vagabond behind him is goddamned priceless.


End file.
